Post 33: The Cinderella Syndrome

originally created as column 33, December, 2002


Carrie Bradshaw, the protagonist in the t.v. series “Sex and the City” likes shoes and buys them. Expensive ones. Lots of them. High quality shoes. I buy shoes on sale. And for the first time ever she bought shoes in a second hand store on a kibbutz. Cheap. Really cheap. But she used them, and walked with them. And wore them to work. Several times.

I also love to get all dressed up but in Israel people can wear jeans to work as well as out in the evening. Most don’t, but it is hard to find an opportunity to wear an elegant dress. Even at weddings it is less common to see jeans but various styles of pants are common. But I am not an expert on fashion nor do I follow the crowds. And I definitely do not have the style or figure of Carrie Bradshaw. You will not catch me dead with my huge stomach exposed or low cut pants. Thank goodness for the return of high cut pants and the demise of mini skirts. Hemlines are all over the place allowing shortwaisted and not so tall women like me the opportunity to choose whatever length skirt or pants I desire….

And so at work you will see me wearing glasses and casual pants with a twin set, sweater or jacket, I have also been sighted with Bohemian style dresses, pom pom draped shirts or tailored suits. And I have dated men who don only jeans as well as men who have Italian shirts and suits featured in the wardrobe (one whose apartment was filthy but whose suits were meticulous).

And then it happened. Beware. The Bachelors are Back. I tried to meet divorcees. I must give off “stay away” when a divorcee with a child sees me coming. I even had a second date with a divorced non-smoking, guitar playing, educated father of three. And then he disappeared. Yup. Many of my friends and colleagues, some of them having never been married before have married or are dating divorcees with children and I am dating a bachelor.

I could see right from our first date that Ariel knew how to dress. From his shiny pumpkin brown shoes to his ironed brown pants (material unknown but not blue denim), freshly applied aftershave (how he did that when coming straight from work I don’t know), I realized that this was a guy who should appreciate the dresses I have been hiding in my closet.

And then the opportunity arose. He invited me to an end of year party from his workplace. It was winter in Israel, and yet I knew that there would be over 400 people and the place would warm up. What should I wear? Classic long black velvet or a mid length but sexy olive green dress with a V-neck and colored beads framing the hemline? I immediately knew that it had to be the green dress, but I did not know how to deal with the temperature factor until Dafna provided me with the perfect accessories – a drape around green and black scarf, an elegant grey black and white beaded Yemenite style necklace which I matched with delicate greyish-black earrings. I got my hair styled smooth and straight for a change instead of my usual wild curly look and all that was left was makeup, beige stockings without a run and …..shoes.

The inconspicuous four-eyed office employee during the day turned into Cinderella in the evening. And the evening could not have been more perfect. The two week rainstorm had finally come to a halt, my son was sleeping over at a friend’s house and Ariel was coming to pick me up.

From my bitter experience, if something will go wrong, it will go wrong. Usually this involves the car breaking down, the babysitter forgetting which day to show up, a virus or a date’s friend dying or a date getting sick himself. Not even a terrorist attack stopped the evening from starting on time, as planned and I even got some verbal reaction from the handsome but mainly silent bachelor. He took a sort of double take, a half smile and then said “matim lach” – it becomes you. Ha! I thought.. A far cry from the bulky long blue sweater I layered on top of a turtleneck and the frizzy uncombed hair I sported on the sunny but semi-cool day that we met on a hike with a bunch of friends.

So Cinderella and Prince Charming drove in her modern day chariot, a company car she could not afford but drove anyway to the modern day ball – a wedding hall near the beach. As she stepped out of the car, Cinderella lost her slipper. There it was on the ground. Half of her left heel. Of her left shoe. Her second hand shoe. Her elegant and matching but CHEAP left shoe!

Goodbye Cinderella. Back to crisis management Galit…..what to do?

Go barefoot into the events hall (with stockings, not so nice)
Break the other shoe (Might not work – at least I can walk with one normal shoe)
Go home and get another pair of shoes (we were already late and would miss the evening)
Go to next door shopping center and look for shoes (they only sell running shoes)
Go to Home Center and buy glue.

Guess who didn’t bring money with her, or even a credit card that evening? Me. Ariel, thank goodness, the super glue only cost 10 shekels (2 US dollars at the time – 3.5 dollars at the time of this posting in 2008) and the shopping center was still open. The handyman there was very helpful, sanded down the shoe and glued the heel back. He said his father’s dream was always that he be a shoemaker and now I made his dream come true. And he healed the heel. And Prince Charming rescued Cinderella with buying super glue. And the embarrassed Cinderella knew that she would never be a princess, even for an evening as if something is to go wrong, it goes wrong.

But the car had fuel. The flu bug stayed away. The pantyhose didn’t run. The terrorists decided to stay home and get their laundry dry. My son stayed healthy and didn’t run away from his friend’s home.

In fairy tales, the prince gets married to Cinderella after finding her slipper, but in this writer’s life, all she wants to know is….will there be a fifth date???????

Post 32: Sooner or Later

originally created as Column 32, September, 2002

Evan met Ben in the park and told me about him. Divorced, non-smoker, attractive, “anglo-saxon” and good-looking. But he doesn’t like setting people up so he wouldn’t give him my phone number nor him mine. “Look for him on the internet”, he said and told me what site to find him on. I didn’t bother and then a few months later, Ben contacted me on the internet. I sent him pictures, per his request and got not even a thank you. Considering the bachelors and married men who won’t leave me alone, I imagine that I am not that ugly, but for whatever reason (maybe Ben met someone else or got back with an old girlfriend) I never heard from him. Neither did Evan.

Another six months passed until last night. Evan, my son and I went to a music concert where a familiar looking guy started talking to Evan. I realized that it was Ben and winked at Evan. Evan introduced me and asked if we knew each other. We both said “no”. Ben was polite but didn’t seem particularly interested in me. My son tried to gain attention throughout the performance.. Ben disappeared ever so quickly when the performance was over. Sooner or later it was going to happen. Perhaps he was embarrassed at the confrontation. I didn’t get any dates out of confronting the internet man who thought he could escape her screen. My son got to play a rare instrument and be applauded by an audience of 20. A full moon shone with the stars onto the rooftop, and I forgot the threat of terrorists, at least for an hour.

No sex and no future dates, but this writer spent the evening with the two most attractive men in the room on either side of her, even though one was eight-years-old.

Post 31: Viruses spread in more than one way

originally created as Column Thirty-one, July, 2002


A virus attacked my computer during the second year of writing these anecdotes. This left my creativity and my emotions vulnerable to change. A friend (who thankfully likes only very thin women, is faithful to his wife and therefore, thank goodness did NOT start up with me) helped reformat my computer, although I had already hung a “rest in peace” sign on its screen a few months ago. Don, my ex-boyfriend (very ex at this point, as he and Marilyn have been living together for over a year) called me very disappointed that I had not written my columns (which were to be the material for this blog) for a long time.

“I don’t have the muse. I am too tired”.

“Aw c’mon. I’m sure you can think of something” he implored with his usual, over-confident tone of voice.

Blank. I had to think. Certainly I had toyed with enough material in my head over the last eight months or so. And then it hit me.

Not only did the virus strike my computer and stopped me physically from writing, but it also stopped the “No Sex”. Yes, I know it is a double negative, but it is really simple. Liat and Dafna did not want to star in my column and therefore started to have sex. No, not with each other.
I simply infected them with the idea of “No Sex” and they were so fed up with the idea that they decided to break their track record. Dafna has been seeing a commitment-shy bachelor for about two months and has even admitted that her hormones are working again. I told her that she has won the Oscar in terms of the number of dates that she has had in the last few years, but she says that the Academy Awards has several categories and although I might not win best picture, I still win multiple awards in other categories. Liat has the most varied location shots, as she has not had sex in the exotic countries she has traveled to and best original soundtrack for all the music performances she has gone to, but not had sex during.

Liat’s most successful pickup spot is a swimming pool, which means that her dates see her without clothes before they see her with clothes. I suppose that might kill the element of surprise. Men also flirt with her at traffic lights, in which case they see her face before her body. In any case, she is slowly but surely on her way to having a boyfriend. I can feel it in the air. No justified explanation – just my influence on her.

I have made a few enemies and some admirers since I started to write this but I will take it as flattery before I get tomatoes and eggs thrown at me. Well, that’s one way of doing on-line grocery shopping.

You might also be wondering what happened to Tal. Yes, hopefully last bachelor I will get emotionally attached to in my life. Our relationship finally reached the supermarket level – that is not only did he get a cellphone but I actually called him to bring me something from the grocery store on his way to visit me. Then two months ago he realized that he was getting emotionally attached to me and that if he wanted to meet someone serious, we would have to stop seeing each other. Hey, that wasn’t fair. I had continued to date and it was supposed to be me to “break up” with him.

But how can you break up with someone you aren’t even officially seeing? That was tricky, and I myself didn’t know how to do it, so Tal won the competition and did it first.

I root for Liat and Dafna to run on separate tracks to the finish line, and hope that their return to this column will only arrive if their boyfriends/lovers/future husbands are in army reserve duty or out of the country on business.

Since then I actually made it to four dates with a divorcee (bachelors are strictly off limit to me
after Evan and Tal) who turned out to be too critical for my taste and so I’m back to first dates, the starting line, the drawing board, and back here, to this column, this screen and back to sleeping alone.

It’s summer now, so this writer doesn’t need a human electric blanket.

My comments have disappeared

ok, this is just too weird. My comments have disappeared. Starting with the last few posts, there is no "comment" window . I'm going to post this and see what happens. I already went to my dashboard and set the comments accordingly, thanks to advice from a fellow blogger. So here it goes

Post 30: No Singing in the City

originally created as Column 30, October, 2001


Since I left my choir, I started hearing songs on the radio that reminded me of the choir – and seeing people who look like people who sing with me in the choir – I was with this choir for 3 years and it’s like breaking up with a boyfriend. That’s why it’s like “no sex in the city” in that it was unlikely I’d meet anyone in the choir unmarried and my age (or even in my decade) that I would want to have sex with (and very few even of the opposite sex to begin with!) I actually had a blind date with a guy who sang in TWO choirs but he wasn’t interested in me (maybe he wanted a tall blonde alto and not a short, brunette, mezzo) .

Ok and lately there’s been this tragedy business. I don’t believe in curses per say – but first I meet a bachelor Tal and his formerly healthy mother gets sick and dies – then I meet a really nice divorced guy with a 3 year old daughter who didn’t even make it to a second date with me cause his daughter got attacked by a dog in a normally calm suburb. Oh no, my friend Evan has a dog in the same suburb but I think he would’ve mentioned such a thing, so I assume it was not the same dog (and I can’t imagine his dog viciously attacking a 3 year old girl) – and then I met another guy who lost his wallet on his way to meet me....

And yes, I know it has nothing to do with me.....

So lately, as you know I had decided not to look for something serious but to be satisfied with “fuck buddies” and not try to stick to celibacy in my pursuit of a more serious relationship. This is something I did not think I was capable of doing, but over the last few years I have somehow been able to suppress my emotions and say that sex without marriage (or commitment) is o.k. if both partners don’t have boyfriends/spouses, practice safe sex etc.....

So what happens..my fuck buddies lately have decided, after years of “hitting the sack” quickly and finding out what a woman has between her legs, often much before finding out what she has between her ears, have decided to become celibate!!!! Will the men now be waiting for 20 dates while I give up and succumb to my passion and my love of hugging (and wanting to stay warm on cold winter nights)?

Is this writer spiritually regressing or physically progressing?

Post 29: The Bare Bears

originally created as Column Twenty-Nine, October, 2001

In Post 19 “Compatibility of Divorcees”, I wrote "Even though they will have very little in common, this writer might prefer dating technologically-challenged bachelors who still remember how to use a public telephone."

I must be good at prophesizing. My sister reads tarot cards, so perhaps it runs in the family. I actually met a bachelor, Tal, who doesn’t own a cellphone. He doesn’t believe in cellphones and think that they ruin the quality of life. So now that his mother is ill, and he is at her hospital bedside, I cannot call him. I can leave messages on his answering machine at home and now that eventually he will check his messages but I can’t call him up at any hour of the day or night.

Dafna was horrified when she heard about this. “What happens if you are living together and you need to call him up in the supermarket and tell him that you are out of milk and to ask him to bring some home?” Since I don’t drink that much milk at home, it is unlikely that I would run out, so I wasn’t as devastated at Dafna of losing out on a dial in supermarket delivery service. (Dafna is a big fan of this blog so I hope she doesn’t take offense. I love her dearly!) Also, given the fact that in the last year I have not made it past four dates, the thought of living with or marrying someone seems like something out of a science fiction film.

Not only does Tal not have a cellphone, but his computer is not hooked up to the internet, so I can’t send him e-mails. He told me he doesn’t want a serious relationship with me because I am older than him and divorced and he is looking for someone younger, but we seem to be very fond of each other, and yet I am still trying to date divorced men with children, as ultimately that is who I am “supposed” to end up with. However, with the events of September 11 have changed my outlook on life, and made me think again and again how unpredictable and short life can be. So I really don’t want to give up the opportunity to enjoy my time with Tal and date other guys at the same time. In fact, Tal is only encouraging me to do so.

And so now I think that I am still a mammal but perhaps no longer human. We are simply bare bears enjoying being naked and hugging each other and then we will probably hibernate from life, perhaps even through the winter. One tall male thin bear and one short plump bear together for warmth until we return to the hunting and gathering of food. And what is food in this extended metaphor? Marriage material? The mythical ideally compatible partner? Being a positive thinker, I know that I will continue to reach my destinations without car accidents, being shot at, or being blown up and yet the reality of it happening to others is hard to avoid. I assure my son that our apartment block is too low for planes to fly into, but he doesn’t seem to know how many bombs and shooting incidents have occurred in the past year only a few kilometers or blocks away from our “safe” home. That’s why it’s simpler just to be a bear, I suppose.

This writer does not advocate sex with bears. She only assumes it’s less complicated than the mating game in the twenty-first century.

Post 28: Dodging the Married Men

originally created as Column Twenty-eight, August, 2001

My friends tell me that I am too picky. I keep insisting that I want to go out with divorced men, preferably with a child or two. So I tried to keep an open mind and date divorced men without children, but that didn’t work. I even fell for a bachelor who barely talks to me anymore. I met a widower whom I never dated but he’s now dating a widow, which proves that the theory of parallel marital status actually works sometimes.

As I wrote in post 26, I am not prepared to date women, and of course, almost all my friends know that my absolute red lines are smokers and married men. Lately all I meet are married men. First of all, a very nice and intelligent guy strikes up a conversation with me at the dentist. He mentions his grown children, his work, his city of residence, but not his wife. How perfect – someone who takes care of his teeth as much as I do. Definitely dentally compatible (Probably a good kisser and no worries about bad breath!) I am thrilled that I have discovered a divorced guy but am too embarrassed to leave my phone number, so I call the dental hygienist at work the next day, who tells me that he is “very married”. (Oops. My mistake – and I had already envisioned future discounts on joint dental insurance). All the “good” ones are taken or gay. No, it can’t be true. If there is one divorce in three, where do the men go? Are they swallowed up by an alimony hole in the earth? Do the young thin female vultures stand on the other side of the divorce court and swoop down as soon as the divorce is final? Or are they all finding themselves in the Far East while their ex-wives take care of the children?

Consoling myself about my wrong diagnosis of the charming dental patient, I keep my mind off the lack of boyfriend situation and immerse myself in swimming and in my career. So who starts up with me at work? A married man who is also a smoker!!!! Why, why , why is this happening to me now?! Finally someone finds me attractive who is actually not an unidentified typing object behind a keyboard and he checks off in category zero. For thirty-eight years I’ve managed to avoid married men, and now, out of nowhere this guy shows up. I am not into S&M – that’s right, smokers and married. Is desperation showing all over my face? Help! I’ve made my position shown in no uncertain terms, and yet he finds it very amusing. If he doesn’t stop the flirting, then I can always complain about sexual harassment, but he does have a family to support! At least it’s summer, so it’s too hot to cuddle up to any male, available or not. Maybe I’ll forget about boyfriends all together and get a dog – neutered of course.

This writer has decided to wear a wedding ring, hang a picture of an imaginary husband on her bulletin board, and wait... maybe some divorced father will think she’s married and start up with her.

Post 27: The Ex-Girlfriends' Club

originally created as Column Twenty-Seven, August, 2001

The Ex-Girlfriends' Club

You’ve probably seen the movie “The First Wives' Club”. Goldie Hawn, Diane Keaton and Bette Middler get together in protest of their ex husbands disposing them for younger and less intelligent “replacements”. I met my ex-boyfriend’s first girlfriend at a party he held Thursday night. His ex-wife wasn’t there, but his present girlfriend, Marilyn, his ex-girlfriend (me) and his first girlfriend (Rachel) after his divorce were all in his apartment, along with about 14 other women and only 4 men.

Don, it seems, likes to be around as many women as possible and invites men to his parties only to be politically correct. When he does go out with a girlfriend, he is sexually faithful to her but when he goes out to events without her, he conveniently hides the fact that he has a girlfriend. I heard about Rachel for years and she had heard about me but even though the invitation she gave to Don was intended to be for both of us, he remembered to introduce me to her, indeed around the time of her birthday, but 4 years later. I suppose it was just another one of his habits of being chronically late. I’ve heard about surface mail, but this birthday invitation seems to have been sent literally by snail mail. Surprisingly or not, Rachel and I got along extremely well and Marilyn was probably happy that we were speaking to each other and not trying to steal attention from Don. It was probably the hottest night of the year and I didn’t stay long between the heat and thinking about how much I would have to pay the babysitter.

I didn’t really expect to meet any potential dates but I was too curious to pass up the opportunity. One of Don’s ex girlfriends did not arrive – she was a girlfriend before he was married, so I suppose she didn’t really fit into the “First Ex-Girlfriend’s Club” as we belonged to the post-divorce age in Don’s life. In one of the episodes of “Sex in the City”, Carrie is invited to a party where everyone is asked to bring someone that they are not dating and it becomes an ex partner party. This party was along the same lines, only we weren’t told to bring an ex-boyfriend and that is why the numbers were so uneven. So of course, no sex that night, unless some those women were same sex couples. That is not a step that I am prepared to take, as I wouldn’t change my sexual orientation just in order to get past the fourth date.

So Don was with Marilyn, and I was left to charm Rachel. Maybe it was better that there were no men to turn me on, as it was hot enough already. Maybe I’ll invite 2 women, 10 men and all my ex boyfriends to my birthday party next year. Most of them don’t have custody of their children so at least they won’t have to get a babysitter for that evening.

This writer didn’t meet any new men at Don’s party, but she did meet a first girlfriend. And what was this writer's true measure of a successful party.....? .... she even found a vacant, free parking spot in the heart of Tel Aviv, right across the street from Don’s apartment.

Post 26: Clothespins, Poppyseeds and Headguests

originally created as Column twenty-six, June, 2001

Clothespins, Poppyseeds and Headguests

Since post twenty-four I’ve opened up a few more doors, actually had three dates with the same guy and frankly feel a little ambivalent. I’ve noticed a few peculiar things over the last six years, since my separation. First of all, men are like clothespins. All the sturdy, stable ones seem to get away and you are left with the imperfect ones. The socks must fall off with the clothespins, as it is a well-known fact that there are more single socks than single women. Washing machines are a well-known eater of socks, but where do they go once they are eaten?

So after you lose so many clothespins, you have to go shopping for more, and there never seem to be enough. Do they feel like they are going on dates when the laundry is being hung out? I mean there they are being hung out on a line in the middle of nowhere, having to fend for themselves. As well as supporting their own weight, they have to hold up wet laundry and hope that pigeons don’t mess with them. Some of the good quality pins do stay around, but they are a rare, faithful kind.

Speaking of laundry, I had a boyfriend for three years who basically saw my son grow up. Don met me when my son was only 2 and still in diapers. Despite the differences Don and I shared, I valued his tolerance of putting up with disgusting diapers. How was I to know that you don’t feed poppyseed hamantaschen (oznei haman) to a 2 year old boy, that poppyseed is something only older children can tolerate? Don was patient but nonetheless relieved when my son was FINALLY toilet trained only a month before his fourth birthday. Also at age 3, Don tolerated visitors of a different variety – head lice. I completely lost it when the daycare worker broke the news to me, but Don helped me comb out those little buggers and I have been fortunate not to buy lice killing shampoo for 3 and a half years until.....THEY’RE BACK.

It is 2 am and I am not having mad passionate sex with my imaginary boyfriend. I am combing head lice out of my hair, and this is all because my (blogger's note: at the time this post was created, my son was 7 - in 2008 he is 14) 7 year old son loves to hug his classmates. Only in Israel can I be dodging bombs one morning and combing hair lice out of my hair another night. Who knows, if perfume doesn’t attract men, then maybe the smell of this shampoo will work? What happens if on the fourth date, (if I get reach the fourth date) my “number 3 man” will want to stroke my hair? Do I tell him the truth and risk turning him off for life and turning this column into “Absolutely No Sex in the City Forever?”

This writer wishes that the little black things on her scalp were simply poppyseeds.

Post 25: The Towel

originally created as Column Twenty-Five, April, 2001


I have seen more men in towels than I have seen men naked. The first time I dropped in on a then platonic friend of mine several years ago (Don later became a lover, but it took months), he answered the door dressed only in a towel. Don wasn’t expecting me and I was rather taken aback at catching him straight out of the shower. I came to pick something up that he had brought for my son from one of his trips out of the country. We only started to sleep together months after that initial home visit. Perhaps the towel had frightened me, but having him greet me stark naked would have frightened me even more.

Today I confessed to my latest platonic friend, Evan, that I am attracted to him, and he confirmed (verbally at least) my suspicions that he is not interested in me physically. (I didn’t press him for the reason) He made sure not to let me into his bedroom when he got undressed to shower (yes, you might ask – why was I in his apartment while he was showering?) Rest assured that he did not invite me to join him in the shower. Next thing I know, he is parading in a towel in the kitchen, and ironing his shirt, while I stand, fully-clothed, watching this spectacle as if I am sitting in an audience.

I see myself on stage, playing the part of the rejected party while the object of my affection and physical attraction shows off his freshly showered and scrubbed torso. You would think he would be a bit embarrassed now knowing that I am attracted to his smell and yet he flashes his flesh unintentionally teasing me – tempting me to touch the body I dare not, because I know with certainty now, that my advances will be rejected.

My phone rings at night, and I know it is not Mr. Tempting Towel with second thoughts, but one of my “fuck buddies” trying to seduce me and console my soul with his body. I refuse, deciding to lose sleep by writing as opposed to wriggling.

Why are men so willing to expose their chests but when I dare mention their ex-girlfriends or wives, even accidentally, I get snapped at and no closer to peeling a layer off their fragile exterior?

This writer will probably throw in the towel long before Evan will.